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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27416809">YOU-LOGY</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Feels, Character Death, Established Relationship, Hades/Persephone retelling, Inspired by Hades and Persephone (Ancient Greek Religion &amp; Lore), M/M, Magical Realism</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 23:07:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,896</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27416809</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><i>'Till death do us part.</i> But not even then.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Haikyuu Angst Week 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>YOU-LOGY</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>trying to rediscover my sunaosa roots because im admittedly being dragged back into my old fandoms, and in a quick attempt at doing so, this was made. </p><p>for tier 3 of haikyuu angst week day 6.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em> “My mother forbade us to walk backwards. That is how the dead walk, she would say. </em> <em><br/>
</em> <em> Where did she get this idea? Perhaps from a bad translation. </em> <em><br/>
</em> <em> The dead, after all, do not walk backwards but they do walk behind us. </em> <em><br/>
</em> <em> They have no lungs and cannot call out but would love for us to turn around. </em> <em><br/>
</em> <em> They are victims of love, many of them.” </em><br/>
—On Walking Backwards, Anne Carson</p>
<hr/><p>Eating nauseates Suna, Osamu can tell. It’s evident enough from how he pushes the food around, how he strikes up idle conversation or finds interest in other new things—as if there’s anything particularly interesting or new in this decade-old shop that Osamu’s been running and living in—just to give him an excuse to not lift the chopsticks or the bowl to his face and try to taste anything. </p><p>There’s also the fact that Suna tells him as such, every time Osamu gets sick of staying silent and demands that Suna eat the food he meticulously prepared for him. He usually says the same thing—that he can’t eat, that it’s disgusting—but it’s happened so many times that Suna just gives and gives Osamu a knowing look before saying, “You know I can’t.” </p><p>Sometimes, he just says, “Stop trying to make this harder for the both of us.” </p><p>Osamu doesn’t listen, which exasperates Suna to no end. Still, limits exist no matter how far Osamu has managed to test it, so even though he pesters, he doesn’t actually get mad when he takes the plates back and the food is left cold and untouched. </p><p><em> “ </em>It’s not that bad when you think about it,” Suna had reasoned. “I don’t get hungry anyway, so I don’t feel it. “</p><p>They don’t mention how that doesn’t actually solve anything, because not feeling the need to eat doesn’t mean the body doesn’t need to eat to survive. But bringing that up doesn’t solve anything either, because he’s decaying either way. In the end, it isn’t Suna’s fault that he can’t eat; it’s Osamu’s, for being unable to make him so. </p><p>“Will you vomit if I force-feed you?” Osamu asks one time.</p><p>Suna just gives him a look before taking a small scoop of the rice and tuna. For a brief, traitorous moment, Osamu almost thinks that Suna is going to eat just to get him to shut up. Instead, the spoon hovers right in front of Osamu’s face. </p><p>“Eating is for the living,” Suna replies. “Open up.”</p><p>Obediently, Osamu eats it. As he chews, Suna lets his fingertips brush against Osamu’s cheek. The food is cold and so is Suna’s touch. </p><p>“I wish you could eat,” Osamu tells him quietly. </p><p>Suna just stares at him. This isn’t the first time Osamu has said something like this, but Suna doesn’t use his usual, <em> “It’s not your fault” </em>reply, because maybe they’re getting sick of going through the same routine conversations that they know don’t actually go anywhere. “You wish for a lot of things,” Suna replies instead, tone not as cynical as he clearly wants to be. “Be grateful that at least some of them get granted.”</p><p>Osamu doesn’t say anything. It’s something he’s learned to get used to, really.  </p>
<hr/><p>When Osamu asks, Suna says it’s like blinking. It’s nothing like what those stories say about life and death and that space in between. It’s nothing like waking up and finding time to adjust to a warm fireplace after spending what feels like an eternity in the cold. It’s nothing like walking barefoot through coarse sand with the wind tickling your hair before sitting down and closing your eyes for a prolonged moment and discovering that now your feet touch the air as the clouds kiss your cheeks and there’s no such thing as gravity, only weightlessness. </p><p>“It’s nothing like that,” Suna tells him, and it’s neither better nor worse. “One second I’m wandering through Kita’s garden, and then I blink before I find myself standing under the ceiling fan of your shop.”</p><p>All Osamu really knows about Kita is that he has an almost never-ending expanse of fresh fields and life blooming under their feet and fingertips. There’s a patio, apparently, and it seems like the closest thing there is to a dwelling there. Suna doesn’t talk much about Kita’s garden, so there’s not much Osamu gets to learn. He doesn’t really know if it’s because Suna doesn’t know much either or because he doesn’t want Osamu to know about them. </p><p>As much as Osamu wants to pry, he holds himself back. He supposes that they each deserve their own secrets, and he knows that this is Suna’s version of trying to have some semblance of a life outside of Osamu because they both know that it isn’t actually possible. </p><p><em> ‘Till death do us part</em>, they say, and there’s a reason they never wanted to get married, because to them, they never really wanted to be like the rest. Osamu is beginning to realize that it’s not actually death that widens the gap between them, but what comes after. </p>
<hr/><p>When Atsumu goes on his mostly random and partially bi-annual visit to see Osamu—he could afford to visit more, but they both know he doesn’t really have the time to when there are places to be and things to do and the most positive emotion Osamu has ever shown to seeing Atsumu is something vaguely disgruntled—he notices how his brother is the only one in the shop. “Where’s Suna? Still in the coffin?”</p><p>“He’s not a fucking vampire,” Osamu says dryly. He’s making coffee. He doesn’t understand why Atsumu asked about Suna’s whereabouts until he realizes that it’s because there are two mugs, full to the brim. </p><p>“Guess that means he ain’t here. Shame.” Osamu finally looks at Atsumu. In reply, Atsumu raises a plastic bag with a box inside. “Brought some souvenirs for him from my last trip.”</p><p>It’s a pair of running shoes. Osamu just gives Atsumu a look, but he simply grins. “It’s an inside joke.” </p><p>“No, it’s not.” Osamu puts the box aside. “Though I don’t think it’d hurt for him to go out for a run every once in a while.”</p><p>“Does he even leave this shithole?” Atsumu wonders. “Or he can’t, ‘cause it’s some side effect of what you did to him? Skin peeling off, getting set on fire from the sun’s heat, that kind of thing.”</p><p>“You know it doesn’t work like that.” Osamu scoffs. “He goes with me on errands.” </p><p>He doesn’t mention that his errands are mostly far and few in between, because he has a storage room that gives him all the supplies he needs to run the shop and his other activities for months. He doesn’t mention friends either, because Osamu is more of a recluse, and he doesn’t see the point of mingling with others when everything he needs is right here in this space. “Your domesticity is disgusting.” Atsumu wrinkles his nose. “Is that all he does though? No wonder he looks so damn pasty. Almost like a—”</p><p>“Corpse?” Osamu finishes for him, voice flat. Atsumu doesn’t even have the gall to look offended; all he does is take a sip from the other mug of coffee Osamu has no use for. They sit by the bar area, backs pressed against the table. He glances up and watches the ceiling fan lazily spin. There’s a ceiling fan upstairs too, and there are some nights and mornings when he can’t sleep even with Suna right beside him, so he just looks up and stares. Despite the circulating air, he would always feel suffocated. He wonders if it’s like that for Suna too.</p><p>“‘Samu?”</p><p>“Rin’s with Kita-san,” Osamu finally says. “It’s that time of the year again.”</p><p>Atsumu says nothing for a while. “Winter <em> is </em>coming to an end,” he agrees, pensive. “Does he bring any souvenirs?”</p><p>It’s not like Suna really has time to prepare anything when the shifts are random. Time doesn’t really seem to exist in Kita’s realm and six months is a loose timeframe when the variables and circumstances are unpredictable enough that there are times when Osamu gets delayed by a month or goes ahead of schedule by a week. </p><p>(Osamu once asked Suna if he hated him for it, for never finding a way to give him a warning. Suna said no, because that would be the same as resenting Osamu for being selfish because he wanted to be with Suna. And he could never resent Osamu for being selfish when it was one of the reasons why he loved him so much. </p><p>Osamu wondered, then, if that made Suna selfish too.)</p><p>But there had been one instance when Suna snagged a flower. It was by accident; Suna had been holding it the entire time in the garden before he was brought back to Osamu. As far as Osamu knew, nothing could be transferred between those planes of existence but Suna because that was the height of what he could accomplish, but the flower had somehow tried to make the trip anyway. Suna had later told him that Kita said it was special, but even though it was still in his hands when Suna landed in the shop, the daffodil had already withered away. </p><p>(“Why a daffodil?” Osamu has asked. “Does it mean something special?”</p><p>“Everything means something to Kita-san,” Suna replied, setting the flower down on the counter There was a distant look in his eyes, and it hit Osamu then, how exhausted he looked. “Not that it matters. Not now, anyway.”)</p><p>There’s a potted plant that sits by the windowsill of the shop right beside the door. Osamu finds himself gazing at it. It’s a cactus. Osamu has no love for plants because he never uses them for anything that doesn’t involve brewing or cooking, but Suna wanted it, said that it was probably the only thing he couldn’t find in Kita’s garden but found a plethora of right here. “It’d just die out here anyway.” </p><p>“Huh,” Atsumu says, like he’s just realized something. “There might be something poetic about that.”</p><p>It’s ironic, maybe, that in death, there is life, but even that cannot last among the actual living; that even in life, where death is the end-all and be-all, that it’s not even forever. He wonders if that means there’s no fine line between life and death, that the boundary had faded long ago and all there was left to do was to find the drive to cross it. He wonders if the reason no one really has is because it’s not worth it. It’s not something he can relate with, but somewhere, deep inside him, he understands. </p><p>“Are you lonely here, without him?” Atsumu suddenly asks. </p><p>Osamu contemplates on staring at the person who he once knew like the back of his hand and vice versa and telling him that it’s a stupid question to ask. Atsumu has long-decided to look at his path and run straight ahead and Osamu has started his slow pace elsewhere a long time ago, and neither of them have glanced back and thought twice about their decision; they’re not about to now.  </p><p>It’s a stupid question to ask, because how could Osamu be lonely, when Osamu’s and Suna’s paths intertwined at the wake of Osamu walking down another road as he parted from the person he emerged into the world with, and even when Suna tried to part, Osamu couldn’t let him. If a thing such as loneliness existed for Osamu, then he doesn’t know it, because he doesn’t know how to feel it. It’s hard to be lonely when you’ve never been alone, and Osamu can’t say he is when he spends most of his days filling in the gaps to ensure that he’ll never truly understand it. </p><p>Osamu says nothing and instead lifts the mug to his face. Suna would say that the taste is organic, not that Osamu would understand, because it just makes him think of Kita and he’s getting sick of thinking about someone he doesn’t even know even when he has no reason to. </p><p>He’s not lonely because he isn’t allowed to feel that way. </p><p>Atsumu still stares at him, waiting for an answer he wouldn’t know because distance can even lead the most intertwined souls astray. Maybe if that time would ever come for him and Suna, he could admit it then. </p><p>Until that time comes: “I don't think I'm lonely,” he allows. “But alone—maybe."</p><p>There are no words of comfort. Osamu doesn't expect any.</p>
<hr/><p>He’s not that good at the magic thing. Necromancy, even less so. But making food is supposed to be some kind of sorcery on its own—that capability to reform an existing item into something else entirely new and make it all the more better, and in the end, Osamu has always been confident enough to think that he can pull anything off so long as he sets his heart to it. </p><p>The details of Suna’s death honestly elude Osamu. If someone asked him when and how, he wouldn’t know what to say. It’s less because grief clouds his memories and more because his inability to deal with it does; when grief is something brought about by loss, how can you feel it if what is lost will soon be regained? </p><p>Upon Suna’s death, Osamu doesn’t think that a part of him died with him—refuses to let himself even entertain the thought because he doesn’t give himself the time to. Time as a whole escapes him. He just knows that the seasons shift without him even blinking, the faces of his customers and the sound of their voices change, and he continues living. The only thing that remains stagnant is six feet under. </p><p>It’s not something he can live with. And he and Suna have never wanted to be like the rest, after all. <em> ‘Till death do us part</em>, the saying goes, but Osamu has never been known for knowing when to stop. </p><p>The first time Osamu brings Suna back, he walks down from his apartment to the shop to find him sitting by the bar area, his usual spot back when he’d come back from whatever games or jobs he’d run with Atsumu because they were both hot-headed and incapable of sitting still; Osamu always orbited around the same type of people and still loved them with the same type of fervor.</p><p>When Suna looks at him, there’s no shock on his face, no questions, no relief. Osamu doesn’t care to be amazed by the fact that it actually worked because he’s suddenly overwhelmed with the sense of longing. </p><p>“This can’t last,” is the first thing Suna tells him. </p><p>“I don’t need it too,” Osamu says, taking a step forward. “Forever’s fucking overrated anyway, right?”</p><p>Suna laughs, like Osamu had said something particularly stupid. “Isn’t death supposed to be forever?” he wonders idly. <em> It’s not</em>, Osamu wants to say, but he holds his tongue, holds his breath, terrified that this is just a dream or some kind of hallucination because he can see the sun slip through the window on what’s supposed to be a dreary Thursday winter and it’s been a while since he’s seen someone that isn’t him and nameless ghosts and faceless bodies he can’t recognize. Suna’s eyes drift to his hands, staring at them like they hold some kind of an answer to a question he hasn’t even asked yet. “Or is it just a moment?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Osamu says. </p><p>Suna finally looks back at him. “How long do you need?”</p><p>“A moment,” Osamu answers. Suna says nothing. When Osamu reaches for him, Suna is firm under his hold. Not a ghost. Not dead. Not anywhere else but here. “Longer.”</p><p>Suna hears what Osamu doesn’t say. Osamu thinks Suna’s about to echo his words, say that, <em> you were the one that said forever’s fucking overrated</em>, except what he starts with is, “Someone once told me something about letting go, you know,” as if Osamu should, but he can’t tell Suna that, because then he winks out of existence. Osamu’s hand grips onto the air. From his periphery, the sunlight dims. When Suna dies, a part of Osamu doesn’t die with him, because that moment is now. </p><p>Suna comes back months later, over the next turn of winter—corporeal and more certain that he won’t disperse like lingering fog. Osamu tells him, “There really is no such thing as forever.”</p><p>Suna simply blinks at him. “Does that make this a moment then?”</p><p>They would learn, later on, that it’s six months, right before the bloom of spring. Osamu is confident enough to think that he can do anything so long as he puts his mind to it, but he can only defy death by so much and he isn’t the only person who wants Suna. </p><p>“I’m sharing you then,” Osamu says, voice quiet as they lie down in their bed. They never really reached that point where Suna would start moving in, leaving bits and traces of himself like belongings or habits in Osamu’s home, but the mattress fits two like it’s the only space Suna would ever need to occupy. </p><p>“Who said I was yours to begin with?” Suna replies, but he ate the onigiri Osamu made him earlier even though eating was something he said he couldn’t stomach doing. <em> You couldn’t pull off this resurrection thing properly anyway</em>, Suna had interjected, but Osamu already knew that, and it was why he wanted Suna to eat it. It wasn’t resurrection, after all, but a temporary stay. Osamu created food. Not life, nor death. <em> You should last because of this, </em> Osamu told him, and offered him the onigiri that held a promise he wished could be everlasting. <em> If you eat, you can stay longer. It’ll be easier for you to come back.  </em></p><p>Suna isn’t anyone’s to own, but maybe, in that moment, he was Osamu’s. Osamu, even if forever didn’t exist, would always be Suna’s. </p>
<hr/><p>Suna is upstairs, digging through Osamu’s drawers for what he guesses to be a lighter, based on the unlit cigarette hanging from his lips. When Osamu finally crosses the threshold and makes it past the last step of the stairwell, Suna glances up and his eyebrows knit together. His gaze narrows in on the grime in Osamu’s hands. “Where’d you come from?” </p><p>“Basement.”</p><p>“So hell,” Suna comments. </p><p>They both know that such a thing doesn’t exist. “Haha.”</p><p>Suna pulls back, lighter now in hand. “Why do you still go there when I’m here?”</p><p><em> To prepare myself for when you won’t be</em>. Osamu almost says. He walks to the bathroom, leaving the door parted as he washes his hands by the sink. “Habit. I’m usually there when I don’t have to man the shop during spring.”</p><p>“Spring’s nice,” Suna comments, and his head sticks out the window when Osamu exits the bathroom. The smoke trails off into the sky. “It’s a good time to go out, not stay in, cooped in the basement moping.”</p><p>Osamu doesn’t remember when staying in the basement trying to improve his abilities and Suna’s state the next time he comes around ever counted as moping. “Pot, meet kettle.”</p><p>Suna ignores him and continues staring outside, a distant look on his face. Osamu wonders if the sight is too wearisome, the dark shades of blue in the sky and the blankets of white snow bleak compared to the colorful hues of Kita’s fresh fields that apparently have no end. Even in the day, with the sun trying to peek over the clouds, the gold might be too dim and dull compared to everything Kita could offer. Maybe that’s why Suna doesn’t like going out often. It makes him think too much of what he misses, even if he’ll always return to it. They never really have been the best at being grateful. </p><p>“Do you want to go out?” Osamu asks, before he can help himself. </p><p>“No,” Suna replies, but he’s standing up anyway. </p><p>They’ve never been the best at telling the truth either. </p>
<hr/><p>Their boots crunch and slosh against the snow as they meander down the road. There’s nothing unfamiliar about the path because Osamu has walked it countless times, but it still feels different anyway. Suna has somehow procured and smoked through another cigarette. At some point in their near-aimless journey, Osamu forcibly plucks it from his lips and tosses it aside carelessly. The cigarette is nearly non-existent, they don’t touch, and they don’t talk about it. </p><p>When they were younger, they’d spend chilly nights loitering outside corner stores, drinking beer or hot chocolate to warm themselves up instead of going inside like normal people. Snow was always something neutral to them; there were no deep feelings for the season, nothing more complicated than being irked by its inconvenience when it was inconvenient and charmed by the fun it could bring when they felt like having fun. </p><p>Osamu isn’t really in the mood to have fun and Suna knows it, but when they find themselves standing in front of a lake that they often pass by when they want to venture downtown, relatively far away from where Osamu’s shop is stationed, Suna says, “Let’s skate.”</p><p>The water is frozen, and when Osamu stretches his foot to tap at the ice, it seems stable. It doesn’t really reassure him. Osamu’s face twists. “What are you, eighteen?”</p><p>Suna doesn’t answer him. “Didn’t we go skating on our first date?”</p><p>“Probably.”</p><p>“If the lake wasn’t frozen, we could’ve fed ducks," he inputs. "Don’t they always come around by spring?”</p><p>Osamu doesn’t say anything. Death has made Suna carefree, he thinks. Or maybe it’s just made Osamu more of a downer. There’s something ironic there too, that the one still alive is the one that can’t enjoy it. </p><p>Noticing his silence, Suna elbows him lightly. His touch feels solid, but only a fraction of the tension in Osamu lessens. “You’re a shitty boyfriend.”</p><p>In the end, Osamu takes off his outer coat despite the cold to protect him from the snow as he sits down on the thick ground and watches Suna try to balance himself on the ice. Nothing caves and shatters under Suna’s feet, and Osamu notices that as he moves, the surface looks untouched when he departs from it, like there’s no weight pressing down on it in the first place. Something coils inside him, a bitter feeling and a burning desire to return to the shop even though it’s sort of nice out and Suna doesn’t look so sad out here. </p><p>Suna eventually notices the discomfort clear on Osamu’s face and where it comes from. “It’s not stable,” he offers. “This time around.”</p><p>“I know,” Osamu says. He offers his hand and Suna skates closer to him, movements more graceful, and he outstretches his own. When their hands attempt to join, Osamu instead slips right past Suna’s fingers, like trying to grasp onto air. Suna doesn’t look surprised or bothered. Osamu sets his head down and lets out a shaky sigh.  “I can fix it.”</p><p>“I know you can.” With the nearby streetlight giving them light in the late evening, Suna lets out an exhale. Mist escapes his mouth, small evidence that he’s really here and not actually a ghost. Osamu guesses it’s not a pleasant feeling, flitting between corporeal and transparent, being able to grasp onto the world for one second and fading from it in the next. </p><p>Osamu stares at the frozen lake. On their first date, Suna told him that he didn’t ever want to get married. Osamu always knew it was because he never wanted to be tied down, but it was always something he associated with never wanting to be tied down when he was alive. He thinks of Kita, how he could wave a hand and melt the ice of the lake and everything alive would find themselves drawn to it. Ducks would flock immediately, fish would swim easily, greenery would bloom by the edges. There are nights when Osamu contemplates that the reason Suna doesn’t want to be tied down is because it’s with Osamu, but he isn’t going to tell him that. </p><p>“It just hit me,” he begins, tentative. “That you never told me to stop bringing you back.”</p><p>Suna sits down beside Osamu. He nudges Osamu to move a bit so they can sit on his coat even though Suna won’t really be affected by the cold. Osamu’s never been good at the magic thing; necromancy, even less so, and it only makes sense that Suna’s returns are never consistent, no matter how often Osamu has done this. Eating is a foreign concept to him, sometimes the body can’t hold him down. Rarer, he can’t feel a thing, like his nerves had frozen off and there’s nothing but aching numbness. </p><p>Osamu used to believe that it was small things like those that made someone alive, and though Suna’s never been alive in the first place, the fact that he can’t enjoy it makes Osamu realize that all he’s really doing is reminding him of his death by putting him in the midst of life. </p><p>“Stop thinking about the past,” Suna suddenly speaks up, as if he’s reading his mind. “Or stressing over the future when I’m here. Now<em> . </em> I could disappear at any moment, and a moment’s never been long enough for you.”</p><p>They’re in the heart of winter. Osamu has days when he wishes winter was forever, except forever is overrated. “You’re depressing to talk to.” </p><p>Suna ignores him. “‘Sides, you might just overwork yourself to death, and I’m not keen on you meeting Kita-san anytime soon.”</p><p>Osamu can’t help but snort, but the bitterness simmers and he can’t help himself. “Possessive?”</p><p>“Pot, meet kettle,” Suna mocks, but his tone is teasing. Osamu smiles, only slightly. Something passes over Suna’s face, a memory that has turned his expression somber. “Someone once told me something about letting go,” he starts, and they both know who he’s referring to. Osamu doesn’t comment on it. “And that some people just couldn’t do it, no matter what happened.”</p><p><em> ‘Till death do us part, </em> but not even then, Osamu can’t help but think. “I’m selfish,” he finally says. “Because I want you to stay, even though it’s hard for you, because you’re not supposed to be here.”</p><p>Suna doesn’t say anything for a while. Then, “So you’re sorry about it?”</p><p>His tone is unreadable, but Osamu wants to laugh out of desperation—out of the lack of hesitation. Just a little bit. “Maybe for the fact that I’m not.”</p><p>Suna’s lips tug in a smile, like they’re sharing an inside joke. “‘Cause you’re selfish?”</p><p>“Because I don’t regret anything,” Osamu confesses. “I don’t want to.”</p><p>Suna flops back on the snow. It clings to his hair, but he doesn’t mind. He rests his hand beside his head, curls it in a telling gesture that makes Osamu shuffle before he lies down beside him, cheek touching Suna’s palm to protect his skin from touching the snow. It’s cold, but it’s not bad. He could never hate winter and all it brought when it also brought him Suna. “It’s okay,” Suna tells him. “I always liked you for your selfishness.” There’s weight in his gaze, but his expression is tender. It’s the same distant look he gets that always tells Osamu that he’s thinking of Kita and the welcoming warmth of his garden, busting with a life he had lost and could never regain even when he came back to <em> real </em>life, temporarily or not; but now, Suna’s attention is nowhere else but on him. “And maybe that makes me selfish too, because I don’t want you to let go and stop trying.”</p><p>Osamu remains silent, letting the words ring in the air. “Is it better there?” is all he asks. </p><p>At that, Suna roughly lifts his hand, shoving Osamu’s face away. “I hate you,” he says, not meaning it, exasperated at Osamu for bringing up Kita. His tone turns thoughtful, however. “Wherever you are, I’ll want to be. Life, death, or in between.”</p><p>Suna sits up and shakes off the snow. It’s like his words have brought him out of whatever reverie he found himself dwelling in, and Osamu can feel the gloominess of their conversation taper off. “But right now I want to be here.”</p><p>“In a frozen lake.”</p><p>“You’re here, aren't you?” Suna stands up. “Maybe you can magic your way into giving us ducks to feed.”</p><p>“It doesn’t work like that.”</p><p>Suna offers him a hand. “Dead ducks, then.”</p><p>That makes Osamu laugh as he takes Suna’s hand. “You’re annoying.”</p><p>“Only for the moment,” Suna replies as he hauls Osamu up. “Is that enough?”</p><p>Of course it isn’t. But forever’s fucking overrated anyway, and Osamu squeezes Suna’s hand, because he doesn’t want to let go—of him, of this moment, of anything between them or beyond them. </p><p>Suna drags him to the lake, they tread on fragile ground, unsure of themselves and anything else in the world but each other until the sun starts to peer over the horizon, the promise of a new day. When Osamu looks at Suna, he looks alive, and for the first time in a long time, he feels the same. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>not gonna lie, this fic already escaped me the moment i wrote down the first line, meaning everything you just read, i didnt actually intend to play it out that way. my initial plan was to tell their story from the first time osamu manages to revive suna up until the point where osamu needs to learn to move on because he cant keep suna with him forever, but this happened instead. i wish i could say i was invested enough to write something like that for this au, but now that its out of my system in the form of this fic, theres a low chance of me returning to it. </p><p>(unbeta'd. will get back to it later on.)</p><p>if you liked it, leave a kudos, comment, or drop by my <a href="https://twitter.com/inarizakicks">twitter</a> or <a href="https://curiouscat.me/sunaosa">cc</a> to say hi. thanks so much for reading.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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